But if we don’t reverse?
In A Great Aridness, William deBuys paints a bleak picture of the world, including the Southwest, should global warming not be rigorously addressed. “If present trends of carbon pollution hold steady,” he warns, the temperature increase for parts of the Southwest “could amount to 8°F . . . by the end of the century.” Paskus, only slightly less gloomy, estimates a 4- to 6-degree increase. Generally speaking, observes deBuys, across the planet, unless we put the brakes on climate change, “wet places will become wetter; dry places, like the Southwest, drier.” Thus, referring to the findings of Jonathan Overpeck, today a climate scientist at the University of Michigan, deBuys writes, “Climate change . . . will produce winners and losers.” Then, he quotes Overpeck himself: “[I]n the Southwest we’re going to be losers. There’s no doubt.”
If we don’t cease global warming, our high-elevation forests of conifer, spruce, and aspen, and our lower-elevation woodlands of piñon and juniper―the floors of both now clogged with dead wood, grass, and brush―will experience more, and more severe, wildfires that will “cook” more soils. If the burned forests regenerate at all, due to a warming climate the dark, soughing conifers that have lolled this backpacker to sleep many a mountain night will not return, but will instead be replaced by Gambel oak, locust, and aspen. The piñon and juniper woodlands, meanwhile, will be replaced by oak, mountain mahogany, and brush. Shade, is that you?
More charred landscapes will mean more erosion and flooding.
The Rio Grande―in Paskus’s words “already a climate casualty in New Mexico”―will have a snow supply pared down by 67 per cent, which will reduce a spring and summer supply of water to New Mexico’s farms and homes by 95 to 100 per cent. The Colorado River will likely see a 30 per cent decrease in flow by 2050 and a 50 per cent decrease by 2100. What threatens the Colorado also threatens the San Juan River, a Colorado tributary. Water is piped from the San Juan to New Mexico’s Rio Chama, which empties into the Rio Grande. Deny the Great River liquid and its water table will drop. Should it drop to more than ten feet below its surface, the cottonwoods cushioning its banks that I so admired when I first moved to Albuquerque will wither and die.
Increased warming and drought will affect the Indigenous nations of the Southwest, threatening their forests and grasslands with wildfire, and threatening the conditions necessary for them to grow their traditional foods.
Risks to health will increase. Those who cannot afford air-conditioning may die of heat prostration. Increased dust will imperil those with respiratory ailments.
Vanishing surface and groundwater will mean no more agriculture along the Rio Grande. Will you trust a long green grown in Saskatchewan?
New Mexico, historically afflicted with poverty, crime, drug and alcohol abuse, homelessness, child abuse, teenage pregnancy, teenage failure to take responsibility for teenage pregnancy, and political corruption, may find that climate change worsens these scourges.
And, of course, there’s desertification. Sand, and more sand. On this topic, I e-mailed David Gutzler, a professor of Earth and Planetary Sciences at the University of New Mexico. Given that I had once lived in the Chihuahuan Desert, I asked him: If we fail to address climate change, will Albuquerque and its surroundings look like the Chihuahuan Desert city of El Paso and its arid, harsh Franklin Mountains? Gutzler’s slightly oblique reply was: “In fact, if we extrapolate the sort of century-scale trends in climate projected by models out to 2100, it turns out that the average temperature and precipitation in Albuquerque becomes very similar to present-day El Paso. I’ve made this point in public presentations by showing photos of the Franklin Mountains above El Paso, which really are very nice for hiking . . . But there are no trees to speak of in the Franklins [my italics].” I took this as a “yes,” and imagined the Sandia and Manzano mountains sun-blasted and covered with creosote, prickly pear, mesquite, an occasional decaying Huggie (New Mexico is always New Mexico), and an occasional desert willow. That is, desertificated.
It boggles the sensibilities. Will central and northern New Mexico and southern Colorado, their forests and woodlands wiped out by wildfires, one day look like Yuma, Arizona; Death Valley; or the Gran Desierto of northern Mexico? (Mexico, too―85% of it―is currently grappling with drought.)
Will New Mexicans face crop failure, civil unrest, famine, new diseases? Will they, if they can afford it, migrate en masse to the northern parts of the United States, desperately seeking a cool breeze and that region’s modest economic gains as a result of climate change? Will the United States withstand such a migration?
Pebbles in my boot.